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Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Like most couples that married young, we accepted anything
and everything anyone offered us. Have
an old bed frame? We’ll take it. A set of dishes? Yes, please.
A four-thousand pound pink couch with a pull out bed? Gladly.

For nearly fifteen years I have cherished every single gift
we have received, from our wedding shower on.I can’t use my hand mixer without thinking of a curly-haired lady named
Kathy, or bake a cake in a Bundt pan without remembering Jenny signing her name
to the card.I’m a sentimental goober to
the nth degree, and parting with any of these things is extremely difficult.

But now, we’re getting closer to letting one of them go.

This must be one of the most sturdy couches built in all of
recorded history.It survived the
raising of three teenage boys and a giant dog and still looked practically new
when it arrived from my in-law’s house.They were upgrading to a more modern style that didn’t have a mattress
or the need for a moving crew to sweep underneath.

Without a good place to put it, but unable to turn it down,
we opted to put it in our unfinished basement so that we could have a place to
sit while our kids eventually would roller-skate around on the smooth, concrete
floor.We used the couch as much as one
uses a couch in a cold basement, waiting out storms and escaping the most humid
days of summer.But eventually we wanted
more.We wanted a finished basement.

The contractor drew up the plans and started framing.Before we knew it, the drywall was up and
rooms were divided in our lower level, and in one side room sat the pink
couch.Locked in for eternity.There was no easy way to move the monster out
of the room, let alone up the stairs to ever get a glimpse of daylight again.

For years, the couch has sat in our back storage room,
covered in boxes of winter hats and holiday decorations, with nary a hind-end
seen.We honestly thought that we would
have to sell our house someday with a little fine print that read: Included,
free of charge, world’s heaviest couch.

Today the story changed.

A visiting friend was recruited to flex his muscles and see
if we could maneuver the infamous pink
couch out of the basement room and into the garage for an upcoming yard
sale.I couldn’t watch, to be
truthful.I was sure there was going to
be a hole in the wall or a pulled back.After hiding in the kitchen, I emerged to see the couch halfway up the
stairs and jumped in to help haul it all the way up and out into the garage,
where it will stay until it finds its next worthy home.Until then, on it I will sit, watching the
kids roller-skate around on the smooth, concrete floor, and think of my
in-laws.

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Karrie McAllister writes and mothers from Small Town, Ohio, where she is also in the running for having the most unrelated part time jobs. Her column, Dirt Don't Hurt, has appeared on numerous Web sites and newspapers since 2005, and this blog is how she keeps track of them all until she can publish another book. Contact her at KarrieMcAllister [at] aol.com